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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683087">Reaching out for you to hold me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacosas/pseuds/lunacosas'>lunacosas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fade to Black, First Kiss, Fluff, Huddling For Warmth, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Spooning, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Touch-Starved Eskel (The Witcher), Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Travel, Winter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:42:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683087</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacosas/pseuds/lunacosas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lambert is not to be trusted to make bookings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel &amp; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #013</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Reaching out for you to hold me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The motel room is small, and cold. The moment they let themselves into it, the shortcomings are painfully clear. The sparse room holds little more than the obligatory bed, bedside tables, a single chair, and a 12" TV on a forlorn stand. One door must lead to the bathroom, the other to a closet. Eskel stands just over the threshold, blocking Geralt’s way for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are we supposed to do with this?” Geralt wonders, looking at the room over Eskel’s shoulder. The window hasn’t even been hung with curtains, and when Eskel moves out if the way so Geralt can fully enter the room he feels a draught coming from the failing old wooden frame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel goes to tamper with the thermostat. “It’s too late to go anywhere else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is nowhere else to go!” Geralt growls, more than a little angry as he looks around the awful room. “I’m going to skin Lambert alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and me both,” Eskel agrees, giving up on fiddling with the controls. “At least there’s a double bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Geralt sighs wearily, eyeing the single seat. There’s no way either of them can sleep in it, and it’s too cold to sleep in the car. The floor is out of the question. If they weren’t both so tired he’d suggest they drive on, taking it in turns. “He said he booked a twin. Bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe they mixed the rooms up,” Eskel suggests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt is too tired to be generous. “He fucked up, and he’s not even going to be sorry. He’s going to think it’s funny and do it again next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel sighs in agreement, dumping his bag on the bed and taking out his toiletries. “I’m not going to risk a shower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt grunts, moving to the side of the bed Eskel hasn’t claimed. He notices it’s furthest from the window, and that awful draught. “Hurry up, I need to pass out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s left alone while Eskel does his teeth, and wrestles with the decision of what to wear. He needs and ought to change out of his clothes, but at the same time he was operating under the assumption that he’d be sleeping somewhere warm and comfortable tonight, not in this icebox. At least the covers seem warm, but it’s not possible to tell how passable they are until he’s under them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears the toilet flush, and decides to change, but only after using the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turns out to be a smart decision. The radiator in the small, midlewy room is clunking into life, but it’s not enough to warm the bathroom yet. Hurrying through readying himself for bed, Geralt swears bloody murder on Lambert as he turns the hot tap on full blast and can’t get even a tepid drop out of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back in the bedroom, Eskel is slipping under the covers, his jacket lying over the top of the bed. It’s not a bad plan. Geralt follows suit, leaving his clothes close enough to snatch under the covers in the morning so he doesn’t have to venture out with more than five percent of his skin exposed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is ridiculous,” he grumbles, finding the mattress too soft but thankfully not lumpy or exuding any smells. The only thing he can smell is Eskel, and the warm, familiar scent is rather distracting this close. Pushing it from his mind he reaches for the switches and discovers that none of them work. With a groan, he gets up and crosses to the door, checking it’s locked before shutting off the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the bare window, moonlight pours in. He slips back into bed, shivering. “Fucking hell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You cold?” Eskel asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Freezing,” Geralt hisses. “How are you not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Eskel breathes, and then shifts beneath the covers. “Might be warmer if we huddle a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt is too cold to care about the fact he’d usually be careful about things like this. Under normal circumstances, he would maintain his distance, because over the years his feelings for Eskel have drifted from platonic towards romantic, and no matter how determined he is to ignore them they haven’t faded. There’s a careful place inside himself he keeps his feelings locked away in, and every time Eskel brushes a hand against his or smiles at him with a gentleness Geralt feels he doesn’t deserve it’s hard not to let those feelings out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But right now there’s no room to be fussy, silly or sensible about such things. Geralt shifts closer, and they meet in the middle of bed, Eskel radiating warmth that makes Geralt groan appreciatively as they press against each other. “You’re like a furnace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel laughs softly. “And you’re like an icicle. Turn over. I’ll be the big spoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it’ll be warm, and Geralt won’t have to worry about Eskel noticing him reacting – not that he thinks his body can betray him he’s so damn cold and tired right now. He turns over, and immediately feels Eskel slot against him, pressing against his back and curling his body to fit the contours of Geralt’s. Warmth soaks into Geralt’s shivering body, and he shudders, startled as he feels Eskel’s arm wrapping around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hands,” Eskel says, and Geralt reminds himself that this is purely a practical course of action in the face of their current situation, for which Lambert is very definitely going to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A large, rough hand curls around Geralt’s, pulling them towards Geralt’s chest. There’s a warm sigh against the nape of Geralt’s neck where his t-shirt has shifted and exposed his skin, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, trying to suppress a shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay like this?” Eskel asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes Geralt a moment to answer, swallowing thickly. “Yeah. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel hums in affirmation, the sound resonating pleasantly through Geralt’s body. “Sleep well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel’s hand squeezes Geralt’s for a moment, and Geralt feels helpless in the face of the action, suddenly breathless. “Night,” he manages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall silent, and the only sounds in the room are their breathing and the creaking of the heating system belatedly kicking into gear. Geralt can feel Eskel pressed so close against him, feel every breath, and once his own heart rate eventually slows down he can feel Eskel’s too, the steadiness of it thudding against his back. He listens to the rhythm, matches his breathing to Eskel’s as Eskel seems to fall asleep. The hand around his loosens to a gentle touch, warmth he doesn’t need anymore embracing Geralt. He doesn’t let go. He doesn’t give up what he has, or dare to shift. He lies there in the moonlit room, pushing his tiredness aside for long enough to enjoy something he knows he can never have but has been both blessed and cursed with a taste of anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first thing he does upon waking is groan and hide his face against the broad back in front of him, hiding from the light. Why are there no fucking curtains? Who thought this was a good ide—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s still all Lambert’s fault, but somehow Geralt can’t find the same contempt he felt for him last night, not when he’s warm and tangled up with Eskel beneath the covers. He’s going to have to do something about that, and soon, but not now, because right now he’s still tired and is content to inhale the warm scent of Eskel’s skin, drifting back to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How much longer he sleeps he has no idea. It’s still early morning when he wakes again, but the light isn’t the worst of his worries. Almost immediately he’s aware of the warmth in his own body, the way it pools low in his gut, his now rested body betraying him. He has no recollection of shifting in his sleep, or when he became the big spoon, and he wishes he wasn’t, because Eskel is rousing and there’s not much Geralt can do to hide his reaction from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has no memory of lacing their fingers together either, but Eskel gently squeezes Geralt’s hand and makes him aware of the fact, then loosens his grip but doesn’t let go. He gives a warm murmur, pressing back as if he’s happy to be where he is. Maybe he’s still asleep, and dreaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt doesn’t know how to answer the questions his mind wants to ask, so he ignores them. “Hey,” he croaks out, and realises that the only benefit of this position is that Eskel can’t see his face. “Sleep well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expects Eskel to move, to get up. He knows he should move too, but can’t make himself. For no discernible reason whatsoever, they both linger, Geralt with his arm wrapped around Eskel, their legs tangled together and Eskel’s thumb twitching against Geralt’s. The twitch becomes a faltering stroke, and Geralt’s eyelids flutter closed at the touch, his breathing coming hard. Eskel stops for a moment, and then continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any idea what time it is?” Eskel wonders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s voice is constricted by the tightness in his throat, the strangeness of it all getting to him. He doesn’t dare move, barely even dares to breathe. Eskel is still pressed against him, the warm, wonderful weight of his body too real to allow Geralt to escape the reality of it. He looks up, over Eskel’s shoulder, at the window, and sees that the glass is heavily frosted. The morning light fractures against the millions of tiny crystals, transient and beautiful, and Geralt feels the moment – the beauty and perfection he can’t keep found in the most unexpected of places and ways – anchor itself within him. He knows he will never forget this, that as long as he lives he will always remember the morning he spent in the shitty motel room with Eskel in his warm arms, the morning light dancing against the frost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel shifts, pushing back into Geralt the smallest of fractions, and there’s no way he misses the telling hardness in Geralt’s body. He shudders, and slowly moves, pulling away a little and then turning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt doesn’t expect him to turn towards him, to keep their hands entwined, their feet still half tangled. On his back now, Eskel looks at Geralt, his lips parted and chest rising and falling with effort. Geralt can feel the flutter of his pulse where their fingers are laced together, a silent cacophony beneath their skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel softly bites his own lower lip, his hand now damp in Geralt’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you kiss me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the breath is crushed from his lungs by the request, the tenderness and vulnerability of it beyond anything he could ever have imagined. It stuns him, leaves his head spinning and heart racing. He slips his hand from Eskel’s, cupping his friend’s face as he gazes down at him, wondering how this is happening, how this is real…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His finger falters and stutters against Eskel’s lip, and he feels the fluttering of Eskel’s breath, sees the way his eyelids fall half closed, his pulse racing. He leans in, his own eyes falling closed the heartbeat before he brings their lips together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never allowed himself to imagine what kissing Eskel would be like, and yet he dreamed of it anyway. Dreams can’t compare to reality. There’s a soft noise, and Geralt has no idea which of them made it, as Eskel becomes soft and pliant beneath him, reaching up to pull Geralt closer. He learns the contours of Eskel’s lips with his own, learns the taste of his kiss, the heavy, wonderful joy of the gift he’s been given. He moans into the kiss, made warmer by it than he’s ever been before in his life, his heart thawed of every last shred of ice that’s gathered there over the years, the careful walls he’s built to keep his secrets in and his heart safe crumbling to dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no going back from this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss breaks, and Geralt pulls away just enough to gaze down at Eskel, breathless and undone. His thumb caresses Eskel’s cheek, faltering when he sees the way Eskel smiles softly up at him. The expression is beautiful, the corners of Eskel’s amber eyes crinkling, and Geralt’s heart skips a beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Eskel murmurs, unmoving, his dark hair mussed against the pillow, his body devoid of any tension or unease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, unsure, half afraid, entirely hopeful, Geralt leans in again. He pauses, waiting to see if Eskel will accept, watching for his reaction. To his dazed amazement, Eskel leans up, gently capturing Geralt’s lips with his own, coaxing him back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no need to speak. There is nothing they need to say that can’t be said with gentle touches and careful actions that bring them closer and closer with each passing minute. Beneath the covers in a shitty motel room halfway to their destination, the morning light pouring in through the glittering window, they find something they’ve both been looking for yet never dared to hope they could find with each other.</span>
</p>
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